


Cyclical Paradox

by listlessness



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bad Art, F/F, Groping, Oral Sex, Post-Season 12, Wall Sex, stolen clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listlessness/pseuds/listlessness
Summary: The Doctor only needs to make her way from the Crayola exhibit to the TARDIS in order to get home. That's her only mission. There's no possible way she can mess it up.It's her companions that are the problem- particularly those she hasn't encountered for some time.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Bill Potts
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Cyclical Paradox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chamilet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamilet/gifts).



> This is for [chamilet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamilet/pseuds/chamilet) as part of the [smut4smut 2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/smut4smut2020) exchange.
> 
> I absolutely _adore_ Bill, so I was happy for a chance to write her! 
> 
> Note: spoilers for the end of season 12.

The transport shuttle gave a final cluttering shudder as it came to a stop. It wasn't a particularly comfortable end to her journey, but it was, at the very least, an end. 

The door crank wouldn't work, but a few firm kicks with the prison-issued boots fixed that. It also had the rather unfortunate effect of sending one of the radiation-reflecting panels falling off the side of the shuttle. As the Doctor stepped out from inside, it clattered off and sent a discordant smack of noise through the tiled enclave she was in. Hissing in surprise, she stumbled away, then turned about in worry. 

Nobody was coming for her. In fact, if she didn't know any better (and she _did_ know better, even if she had a mild niggling doubt), she'd say the whole art museum was empty. Coming crashing in from an interdimensional jump on a stolen prison shuttle in nothing but her checkered pants that billowed around her thighs and a pair of boots that were a size too big wasn't going to be easy to explain. 

The quadrant of the museum she was in was dark, except for the glowing lights marking exits and lavatories. It looked just about empty. It was well past closing, that much was clear, and she was in a part of the museum she really shouldn't have been. It was nothing but her and a good dozen illustrations from a twenty-fifth century artist who specialised in Crayola. The Doctor did her best to see the good in everything humans created for their own artistic merit, but it was times like this that she had to bite her tongue. 

No matter. She had to forge ahead. 

As she left the shuttle behind (it looked a bit like a modern art piece now that she thought about it, which fit the surrounding artwork just fine), she quickly realised that no, she was definitely in both the right place and the right time. Both tended to be rarities for her. 

Music was filtering down from the mezzanine above her, as was the odd patter of loud conversation. Light was spilling out from somewhere, and as the Doctor neared a corner, she saw warm yellow light spill out onto the walls. Someone was playing a guitar; it was no wonder no one had heard the shuttle landing over that blaring noise. 

The Doctor began to run on her toes down the corridor. She grabbed at her bare breasts, holding them down as she skidded around a corner. This part of the gallery was a maze. She had entered from the other end the last time she was here, and it all felt a little bit like a warren now. One left, two rights. North, she definitely knew where north was. Another left and- 

_There_. 

'Oh, thank goodness.' 

The coat check-in desk was being unmonitored. Wrapping an arm around her breasts, she ran forward and unlatched the small gate that kept unwanted visitors out. Apologising to whatever and whoever might be listening, the Doctor stepped in. 

There it was, hanging in the back. Lovely old thing, a beautiful black and lined in a vibrant red. The coat was in far better condition than the last time she saw it. Grabbing it off the rack, she shrugged it on and buttoned up. The silk kissed at her bare skin, and it felt so wrong, given her previous incantation being so fussy about being dressed appropriately. 

'Sorry, old mate,' she apologised, strangely, to herself. 'You've got plenty more.' 

She shoved her hands into the pockets, intending to leave something for the check-in staff. They were empty. Of _course_ the pockets were empty. Not even a stick of wadded up gum to leave in thanks. 

Which also meant no sonic. 

'Oh... _shit_.' 

The Doctor rarely swore. It wasn't really in her vocabulary. There were so many other fun words to say, like balderdash and fiddlesticks. But as her hands groped the multitude of pockets on the coat, she found herself suddenly cursing herself for her own thoughtlessness. Of course the coat wouldn't have the sonic screwdriver. It was likely on herself... well, her _other_ self. Somewhere in his pockets, and he was unlikely to just hand it over in these circumstances. 

She'd have to steal it off him. That was going to be just as tricky as sneaking out of a Judoon prison cell, making her way through the monitored corridors, finding an active transport shuttle and then stealing it to her own escape. 

It would be a walk in the park. 

She could do this. 

Maybe. 

The coat barely reached her knees, but the lapels were open just enough to reveal the hem of her boxers. The sleeves hung around palms and no amount of pushing them up to her elbows was going to help. She wasn't going to be a welcome attendant at the gala, no matter how much she smiled. 

Empty pockets also meant no psychic paper. This whole fiasco was becoming more and more difficult. 

Fine. She'd find the staff kitchen and hope she could slip in through the back. 

'Oi! What are you doing?' 

Well, to be fair, the Doctor hadn't exactly put _not being seen_ into that part of her plans. 

'That's not your coat.' 

Tripping over her feet, the boots a size and a half too big for her, the Doctor grabbed a corner. It was a little darker than she'd anticipated. That's what she told herself, and that's definitely what she'd tell whoever was accosting her. 

'Yes, it is,' she replied instantly. 

'No, it isn't.' 

'Yeah, it is.' 

It was. Well, more accurately, it _was_ her coat, past tense. It wasn't her coat any more, on account of it falling apart during her regeneration. But it _had_ been her coat, so really, it was still her coat now. And she'd give it back, eventually, even if she was kind of giving it back to herself now, on account of the whole time travel thing. 

But the point was, more insistently, 'it definitely is my coat.' 

'It definitely is not. It's far too big for you. And you're not a man. And I can see your pants.' 

'What're my pants got anything to do with- ' 

And then it hit her. 

The Doctor finally stopped. She turned to her left, to the dark corner she'd been trying to walk past. There were a pair of glittering sneakers that were catching the thin stream of light the Doctor was standing under. 

She knew those shoes. 

She knew that voice. 

'Bill?' 

'Bit worrying how you know my name, but yeah.' 

There Bill was, stepping forward from where she'd been hiding. 

Bill. _Bill_. _Her_ Bill. Alive and human, breathing and with red cheeks (and that might be blush, but the Doctor didn't judge). Her hair in a dark halo, tied up high and straining against an oversized scrunchie. Dark leggings and a brightly patterned top, with a jacket that had likely been flung at her for simple decorum. 

Bill. 

'It's me.' 

'What?' 

'It's _me_ ,' the Doctor said, jumping forward, her fingers jabbing at her own chest. 'In the future. The next me, I mean. I regenerated. Not now, obviously, later.' 

Bill’s brow furrowed as her eyes began to dart down the length of the Doctor. She could only imagine how she looked. She hadn't taken a glance in any kind of mirror yet. Her hair was probably a mess, and she could feel a bruise forming under her right eye from her escape attempt. Her knees were a little grazed from crawling through a eighty-metre air duct, and the shoelaces on one of the boots had snapped. 

She also, most tellingly, wasn't an old man with grey hair and a thick brogue. 

'Doctor?' 

'Yeah!' the Doctor chirped. 'That's me!' 

Bill continued to study the Doctor. Her brows knit together, her eyes squinting in the dim light. This part of the corridor was sparsely lit. The moon outside in the high windows was large and adequate for the Doctor's own vision, but she didn't think it granted Bill the same amount of clarity. The Doctor took half a step towards one of the dimly lit bulbs that protruded from the wall and waved her hands. 

'You... upgraded,' Bill said after a moment. 

The choice of words had the Doctor's breath catching in her throat. Her hands hovered where she had them raised, fingers spread wide. 

Yeah. Yeah, she'd had an upgrade, sort of. 

And Bill was still Bill. Beautiful, smiling Bill. Her eyes bright and hair catching the light in its dark curls. Her colourful clothes and large smile. 

_Bill_. With skin and hair and teeth and- and _blood_. And _lungs_. And bones and fingernails and all the visceral bits in between. 

_Bill_. Alive and real in this time, standing in front of her as she questioned not only the Doctor's form of dress but also her newest body. 

'Are you alright, Doctor?' 

' _Bill_ ,' the Doctor breathed, because that's all she could very well do in that moment. 

She stumbled forward. The toes of the boots were too long and she stumbled, only once, as she reached out, her fingers still stretched wide. A small breeze slithered up the front of the coat and under her boxers, causing her skin to prickle and hair to stand on end, just as her fingers rested atop Bill's shoulders. 

'It's _so_ good to see you, Bill.' 

It was. It was indescribable. 

Time was a funny thing. So much of it had passed since she'd last seen Bill, but it only felt like yesterday. In a way it was. She was somewhere in this very building, after all. Not _her_ necessarily, but still _her_. _Him_. Just a few yards away, maybe, possibly even looking for Bill right then to help him solve the mystery of his missing coat. 

But the Doctor was also here now, one hand lifting to cup Bill's cheek, just to feel the warmth of her skin. She could feel the muscles in Bill's jaw working as she gave a wide grin, the echo of a laugh just under the Doctor's fingertips, vibrating and reverberating as though she might be able to catch it. Keep it, hold it, fill her empty pockets with it. 

'Bill.' 

'Doctor?' 

She didn't mean to kiss Bill. 

Well, to be fair, she _did_. The Doctor didn't just accidentally kiss her- that was a bit hard to do. But she didn't think about it deeply. It was just that Bill was there, and so very wonderfully, incredibly alive. 

The Doctor could feel her breath, her pulse, the way her chest expanded as she breathed in when the Doctor cupped her face and leant against her. There were a pair of hands on the Doctor’s waist and a slight bend as Bill bent ever so carefully to accommodate her. The faintest graze of teeth ran over the Doctor's lower lip and a small laugh in her mouth as the Doctor made a small noise of surprise. 

Bill's hands slid up, over the dip of the Doctor's waist and the flare of her ribs, as best she could despite the jacket. Higher, until she reached the Doctor's own shoulders. Maybe it was a sign for the Doctor to stop, to pull away, apologise for letting a series of _what ifs_ get her carried away. 

That wasn't it, though. 

Before the Doctor could so much as lean back, Bill pushed her, guiding her back until the smooth, flat wall pressed against the Doctor's back. The Doctor took half a step to get her bearings and she found her shoulder smacking against the sharp edge of a corner, her hand releasing its grip from Bill to grasp at the wall behind her. The light from the window above Bill's shoulder radiated around, dazzling the Doctor as she opened her eyes briefly. 

She uttered her name again. A small, single-syllable murmur, half a grateful surprise and half a prayer. 

'Did you do this for me?' Bill asked. 

'What?' 

'This?' 

Bill gestured up and down, her eyes following far slower. It took the Doctor a breath to realise she was being checked out. It was novel. In her mind, she was still an odd mix of parts. Taller, lankier, fond of leather jackets and tennis shoes, long scarves and fezzes. She alternated between a preference for all white and all black. She thought her voice was deeper than it was. She stood with her legs apart and shoulders square. Strangers called her bossy. She'd never been called that before. 

The Doctor looked up and down. 

'The boots?' she finally asked. 'They were given to me in prison. I won 'em in a fight.' 

Half-true. She stole them from another prisoner who had been knocked down in a fight. 

' _No_ ,' Bill said, rolling her eyes. ' _This_. The whole woman thing.' 

The Doctor paused, a peculiar flush beginning to rise to her cheeks. She began to stammer, not even clear how she was going to respond when Bill continued, her voice dropping low. 

'Do you have a crush on me, Doctor? Now, I mean? The... the old man version of you?' 

'What?' the Doctor asked. Then, 'no. I mean, not in the traditional sense. Your mind, yeah. Your unquenchable curiosity. That's very attractive, doesn't matter who or what you are. And your happiness. Your excitement for everything. It's hard to find someone who's always so excited, so- so _ready_ for the next adventure. Attraction doesn't just have to be physical. I mean, it helps, it really does, but intellectually, emotionally, on the most cellular level, then yeah, of course- ' 

Bill kissed her again. Hard and needy, pressing her against the wall. The Doctor rocked back a little, her fingers scrambling up Bill's sides, pawing at her clothes as she grabbed her way up. One hand curved over the sharp edge of her shoulder while the other cupped the back of her neck, keeping her close as she kissed Bill back. 

'Bill,' the Doctor sighed, clutching at her. 'Bill, I missed you.' 

She didn't even mean to say it, to let it pass her lips. But she felt Bill straighten, her head cocked. 

'Where'd I go? We were meant to travel together for years.' 

The Doctor opened her eyes. Bill was studying her, head cocked to the side. 

She couldn't answer that. The Doctor couldn't let Bill know. Right now, Bill was still alive, smiling and warm and right there in her hands. Maybe in this timeline Bill would even stay alive. It was possible. Surely it was possible. 

But she couldn't answer that question. 

'You can't tell me, can you?' Bill asked, still with a laugh. 'But I must've left an impression, huh? For you to go and turn into this?' 

One hand grabbed at the Doctor's hair. A small gasp slipped past her lips as her eyes widened, her gaze locked upon Bill. She'd seen her joyful, she'd seen her wry and coy. She'd seen her playfully flirtatious, but she'd never seen _this_. A little mischievous, a heavy dosing of seduction in her heavy-lidded eyes. 

'Or did you already become this while I was still travelling with you?' Bill continued. 'You know I like blondes, right?' 

The Doctor wasn't sure if she knew that. Maybe she had been told. There was a nugget of information floating around between her ears, but she couldn't latch onto it. She was being drawn in, by the small puff of air against her lips, the smell of Bill's perfume, the feeling of tight curls under her palm. She couldn't shake it, how alive and vibrant Bill was. It felt even stranger, being in her old coat in this body, her old smell clinging to her and mixing with Bill's own personal scent. 

She grabbed her. The Doctor wasn't sure she meant to. Yeah, her hands were moving, and she could see them clutching at the lapels of Bill's sparkling jacket, but she didn't even know what she was doing until she heaved her weight and pushed Bill around the corner that had been jabbing into her shoulder. 

Her hands splayed over Bill's shoulders. Bill’s jacket was coarse and scratchy with sequins, and the Doctor idly flicked at one. It shimmered and sparkled in the small amount of light, briefly distracting the Doctor before her attention naturally returned to Bill. 

'You can tell me, Doctor,' Bill sighed into her ear. 'I promise I won't tell.' 

The Doctor made a strangled noise. She knew she couldn't tell Bill, couldn't even give her a hint of what lay in her future. Not just the Cybermen and all that entailed, but all that great, fantastic things that awaited Bill. 

She didn't have a chance to argue it, though. A cool breeze had slipped under the jacket and it took her a moment to realise why. 

Bill had begun to unbutton the coat. The first few buttons had been undone, and the smooth plane of skin from between the Doctor's clavicles down to below her breasts had been exposed. There was a beat, and she realised she was being studied. 

'Why... why are you in the buff under this?' Bill asked. 'You never told me why you're only in your pants.' 

'And boots.' 

'And boots,' Bill corrected. 

'I couldn't just go around in my prison overalls, could I?' she said, offhandedly. 'Be a bit obvious, wouldn't it, walkin' around with a big barcode on my back like that.' 

'And walking around in the nude isn't?' 

'Not nude. Got my pants and my boots.' 

'And a coat.' 

'And a coat.' 

Bill laid her hand in the valley between the Doctor’s breasts. The Doctor could feel her twin heartbeats pounding away, her pulse spiking as Bill's nails very lightly dragged down. 

'Why were you in prison?' 

'It was a platoon of Judoon.' 

'Why?' 

'They called me a hoon.' 

Confused passed Bill's face. Despite the joke passing her by, the Doctor didn't mind all that much. Bill didn't seem to care much either. 

Her fingers finished trailing down the coat, unbuttoning it and pushing it open so she could run her hands over the Doctor's bare body. Up to the Doctor’s breasts, each hand covering one and squeezing, just firmly enough to elicit a small gasp. 

This body was new. The Doctor was still trying to figure it out, what made it tick. She hadn't had enough time to explore it on her own yet, let alone with someone else. Yet when Bill put her knee square between the Doctor's legs, she realised that _this_ , _this_ was what she liked. Bill touching her, groping at her, the knee pressing against her cunt (and only now was the Doctor realising just how wet she was). The way Bill bit at her chin and licked at her throat, causing the Doctor to teeter her head back and offer more up for her. 

Every part that the Doctor touched was warm. Bill’s skin was soft and pliable. The Doctor could feel Bill’s blood coursing under her flesh, the expansion of her ribs as her lungs took in oxygen, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. If she concentrated, she could even sense the periphery of her thoughts, the electrical pulses of her brain ricocheting about, making new connections and forming new ideas at every turn. Bill was _alive_ and right in front of her. 

The Doctor longed to keep her here for as long as possible. 

She let her mouth drop down. 

Bill had shown an interest in kissing her throat, and the Doctor returned it in kind. Down she went, nipping at the soft skin at the side of Bill’s neck, along the meaty cords of her throat and to her collar bones. 

Her hands were clumsy, without any of the nuance that Bill had. She pawed and groped at Bill's breasts, through the fabric of her shirt. She could feel the outline of Bill’s bra, the padding of the cup as she tried to mimic Bill's movements with little success. She was trying, though; that was what she told herself. Maybe she didn't have the delicacy and experience of Bill (in this body, at least), but she was trying. 

She wanted, _needed_ , to feel Bill. In this body, in this moment, the Doctor _needed_ to know she could touch Bill. For this small moment, Bill was still alive and beautiful and the Doctor could still hold her, just for now. 

The Doctor’s mouth kissed Bill's chest and the top of her shirt collar. Down a little further, pushing her shirt down a little to kiss between her breasts, the sharp V of her neckline under her lower lip. She could feel Bill breathing in, the patter of her heart, a laugh forming as the Doctor tried to swipe her tongue over one bra cup-clad breast. 

'I can't really feel that, Doctor. Surely you know that?' 

As though to push it in, Bill slipped her hand under the neck of the Doctor's shirt and tugged at the sturdy and thick strap of her sports bra. Looking up through her lashes, the Doctor furrowed her brow. 

Fine. She could do better than that. 

The floor underneath her was hard. Her knees flared with pain temporarily as she landed heavily upon them. She barely had a moment to rationalise what she was doing as her fingers hooked around the elasticated waist of Bill's leggings and she tugged them cleanly down to Bill’s knees. 

It had been some time since she'd done this. She wasn't completely new to this, it had just been some time. Like, say, the same length of time since she'd actually touched another person's breasts. 

She could smell Bill's arousal. The heady scent of another woman, the underlying notes so similar and close to her own, but somehow so different. The Doctor's nose pressed against the front of Bill’s briefs, a simple basic cotton that seemed so obvious for someone like Bill and yet not at all what she'd expected. At least the colour- a bright, vibrant magenta- fit her perfectly. 

'Have you done this before?' Bill asked, a brow arch. 

'Of course,' the Doctor replied quickly, indignantly. 'I just need to think.' 

To _remember_ , more like. Sometimes it took a moment for her mind to catch up. 

Her tongue ran up along the cotton of Bill's briefs. She could already taste her. Musky but strong. Salty. A little like a delicacy on a planet that the Doctor had been to years and years ago and she really ought to get back there once she had an opportunity. 

Another swipe. Bill's hips jerked and she made a tiny strangled noise, which was quickly muffled by the sound of the event room door opening and a shriek of noise to come spilling out before it was quietened once again. 

That noise was frustratingly familiar, but she couldn't place it just yet. Besides, she had something more prominent to deal with: Bill. 

She licked again, the cotton teasing her tongue. Bill gave a breathless huff, then, when the Doctor wasn't forthcoming, she grabbed at the waist of her briefs and shoved them partway down her thighs. 

'I seriously never thought I'd be doing this with you,' Bill breathed, her hand suddenly in the Doctor's hair and pulling, hard. 

'Yeah,' the Doctor replied with a nod. 'Me either.' 

The Doctor couldn't say she regretted it, though. The heat of Bill's cunt, the salty taste and rich smell were all just reminders that Bill was so blissfully, wonderfully alive. The hand in her hair was thrilling due to it being such a rarity (no one had grabbed at the Doctor like that in so long, and not when her hair had been this long), and the sound of Bill giving a small yelp of joyful surprise as the Doctor swiped her tongue over her made her heart flutter. 

She wished briefly, with a small pang in her chest, that she was more practised in this for Bill. She could do better, she _knew_ she could do better, but she had been on her own for far too long. Bill deserved better. 

But, as she spread Bill's lips apart with her fingers and let her tongue press inside, she realised it wasn't all that difficult. Bill was pressing down against her mouth, knees buckling a little as she ground against the Doctor's mouth. Peering up at her, sucking slightly on her clit (that was a thing, wasn't it? The Doctor was sure it was, she'd done it before... maybe), she watched as Bill's head fell back against the wall, eyes tightly shut. 

She was gorgeous like this. Her skin had a healthy glow, her cheeks flushed and lips parted as she moaned. Her fingers tugged recklessly on the back of the Doctor's head, pulling at the Doctor’s hair as her knees trembled. 

It was a look the Doctor so rarely got to see with her companions. Amazement, wonder, awe. Regret, helplessness, righteousness. Those emotions, those feelings, yes. But this was something new. This was private and intimate and left only for those in Bill's most closed circles. 

Her previous regeneration hadn't been permitted to see this, but _she_ was. 

Pressing her fingers in deeper, her mind quickly cataloguing the differences between human parts, Time Lord parts and other alien beings that the Doctor had been with, she let her tongue run back over Bill's clit. Bill’s moans were deep and throaty, a guttural sound from deep within that the Doctor could feel against her lips. Her hips rolled forward, her free hand alternating between squeezing her own breast through her shirt or grabbing at the Doctor's shoulder. 

The longer the Doctor spent on her knees, the more she was remembering how to do this. Bill was wet against the Doctor's face, smearing her slickness all over as she ground down. She was loud- of course she was loud. The Doctor had somehow suspected that, even though she'd never admit to thinking much about it. 

Thankfully the noise that was spilling out from the gathering at the far end of the corridor would muffle most of the noise. The back of Bill's head dragged down the wall as her hips canted forward, her hand forcing the Doctor's head forward so her nose pressed against her clit, her tongue deep inside of her. The thatch of coarse curls tickled the Doctor's lips, her tongue curling within Bill and dragging slowly out. 

Taking one of Bill's legs, the Doctor let her hand cup the back of Bill’s knee. She lifted it up, careful to hold as much of Bill's weight as she could, and draped it over her shoulder. The inside of her thigh pressed against the Doctor’s cheek, her heel smacking the Doctor's shoulder blade as she writhed against her. 

She wasn't nearly as good at reading humans as she was herself. It didn't seem to matter how much time she spent with them, their bodies never quite spoke to her the way her own did. Her added clumsiness at the moment was only impeding her ability to read what Bill was experiencing, which was why it was such a surprise when she felt Bill come around her fingers and tongue. 

'Oh- oh, Doctor- ' 

The thigh against her cheek twitched. The heel pressed in. The Doctor could feel a bruise forming where the curve of the shoe dug in, a small reminder of what had happened. 

The hand burrowed in her hair gave another final tug before Bill abruptly let go and sank down the wall a little. With the leg still tossed over her shoulder, the Doctor grabbed at Bill's hip to slow the descent. The fingers on her other hand were wet from where they'd been inside Bill, and they smeared over Bill's inner thigh as she gently eased the leg down. 

' _Ohh_.' 

Bill looked dazed. Sitting back on her haunches, the Doctor took a moment to just admire her. Her hair was a wild, curly mess, a number of strands flat against her face with sweat. There was a twitch in Bill's left hand, while her right knee kept flexing as she gulped down air. 

'Bill?' the Doctor asked quietly. 'You alright?' 

'I think so,' Bill replied. Her voice sounded thin and distracted. 'Might just need a minute, though.' 

The Doctor began to push herself up. Her knees gave a painful throb as she stood, a reminder that she couldn't just drop down like that on a hard surface. Wiping the back of her hand over her mouth (was it always that wet? She couldn't recall), the Doctor couldn't help but feel quite smug. Bill seemed quite dazed as she tried to hitch her briefs and leggings back up- something that the Doctor perhaps should have helped her with, but human courtesies still sometimes escaped her. 

'That was somethin' else, Doctor.' 

'Yeah, I still got it.' 

At that Bill gave a sudden guffaw, just as her thumbs snapped free from the waistband of her leggings. 

There was a breath. Bill looked like she wasn't sure if she ought to step forward; the Doctor wouldn't have minded her reciprocating. She was aroused herself, a deep heat burning low in her belly. She had a sudden pang for Bill's knee between her legs, something to ride against as she let herself get off. 

Unfortunately, she didn't get an opportunity. 

The door to the event room at the end of the corridor was flung open. Unlike other times, though, it stayed open. Bill turned her head when it didn't seem to be shutting, and the Doctor let herself lean to the side, attempting to peer around the corner. 

'I should go,' she said as it sounded like people were beginning to leave for the evening. 

'You sure?' Bill asked. 

The Doctor didn't want to. She wanted to steal Bill away with her. They could have more time together. She could have Bill and the TARDIS back before there was any notice of her disappearance. 

But she couldn't. This wasn't the journey Bill was to take. 

'I need to,' the Doctor whispered. 

Bill, slowly and with a small frown, nodded. Her cheeks were still flushed. It felt wrong to leave her like this. It seemed rude and thoughtless, though the Doctor knew it was anything but that. 

'Will I see you again?' Bill asked after that quiet pause. 

That was a question the Doctor couldn't immediately answer. She paused, frozen slightly in place, and made a faintly strangled noise. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to assure Bill, as desperately as she could. Of course Bill would see her again, of course they'd have more time together. But, once more, she knew that wasn't her place. 

'No matter what happens, you're going to have a magnificent time, Bill.' 

Laughter and loud conversation had begun to spill from the room. The music had stopped at last. The Doctor needed to go. 

'Left breast pocket,' Bill finally said. 'Inside pocket.' 

'What?' 

Bill was trying to smooth her hair down. It wasn't working. 'Your key.' 

Her coat was still unbuttoned. Reaching into the pocket in question, her nipples chilled by the cool air, she found the key. It seemed to warm in her grasp of its own accord. With a goofy smile, the Doctor looked back up. 

'Thanks.' 

That felt abrupt, but she didn't know what else to say. Bill didn't seem to mind, though. She was lazing against the wall, her smile soft and her expression a little hazy. They both seemed to be skirting around what they wanted to say, floating about leaving. 

Down the hall, she could hear herself. Well, not _her_ self, so much, as _him_ self. That loud, booming voice, the rich accent that had been so unique at the time. 

'Go,' Bill urged. 'I'll keep you- him- busy. It'll be fine.' 

Nodding, the Doctor took a few steps back. Then, unable to help herself, she leant in and stole a kiss. Just one. For the road, as humans liked to say. 

Her coat was still open when she finally scurried off. Her boots pounded along the tiles as she tried to hold the coat closed, the key still warm against her palm as she raced down. Bounding about a corner, certain she was heading in the right direction, she stumbled to a stop when she hit the back of her head. 

Well, not _her_ head. Not her current head at any rate. 

But that wasn't what stopped her, though. No, it was the person beside her former self, walking with a skip and a loud laugh in the air. 

Bill. 

Bill, with her hair out and a ribbon hanging loose from where it had fallen free during the night's festivities. Wearing flared jeans and a long-sleeved blouse. Platform sandals that the Doctor hadn't understood then and she certainly didn't get now. Dressed in some quasi-1970s costume because she thought it would be _fun_. 

The two of them were going to try and make their own Crayola art and see how long it would stay on the wall for. 

(Six days. It had lasted six days.) 

The Doctor remembered now. Bill had coaxed her- _him_ \- up onstage, thrust the guitar in his arms and had cheered him on during the night. They'd both been baffled over the art, but the party afterwards had been spectacular. Bill hadn't left all night. 

Looking back down the corridor, the Doctor started walking back. She'd have to run. She might have time to head back to the corner, question the-Bill-that-was, before finding the TARDIS and convincing it to let her in. Find a change of clothes, find her _present_ TARDIS, and return this one. 

Or she could give herself a few extra minutes and just find the TARDIS. 

'Bill,' the Doctor murmured to herself. 'Will I see you again?' 

Her fingers pressed the key tight against her palm. 

She turned and ran away from her retreating, laughing former self and went to find out. 


End file.
